


Smoke gets in your eyes

by diner_drama, feathershollyandgolly



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Mad Men AU, Mildly hostile colleagues to lovers, Nazi hunters, Spies, You don't need to have seen Mad Men, but only kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26462338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diner_drama/pseuds/diner_drama, https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathershollyandgolly/pseuds/feathershollyandgolly
Summary: The year is 1960, and Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier are a pair of CIA operatives who are brought together to infiltrate American suburbia and hunt down a Nazi war criminal who has escaped prosecution. Can they bring down Sebastian Shaw without him suspecting they are anything other than a harmless pair of advertising executives?
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29
Collections: 2020 Cherik Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beautiful artwork for this fic was drawn by the inimitable feathershollyandgolly.

Emma Shaw was nearly halfway through the ironing pile when there was a knock at her front door. Untying her apron and smoothing down the front of her dress, she composed her face into the correct expression befitting a meek and obliging housewife before unfastening the chain and opening the door.

She was greeted by two smiling men, one holding a plate of cookies. 

"Hello," said one of them, holding out a hand to shake. "I'm Charles Xavier, and this is my business partner, Max Eisenhardt. We're new to the area and we thought we'd introduce ourselves to the neighbours."

* * *

"The cookies were too much," said Erik later, kicking off his shoes at the door and scowling at Charles until he did the same.

"Nonsense, they had precisely the desired effect. She thinks we're idiots or possibly homosexuals and has no idea why we're really here."

"I didn't realise we were trying to trick the locals into believing we were romantically involved," said Erik drily, looking Charles up and down. "You might have to tone it down on the tweed if you want to sell that one."

"There's nothing wrong with tweed," frowned Charles. 

"Our cover identities are advertising executives on Madison Avenue, not professors of Greek history."

"You know, the history of the Greek Empire actually has a lot of fascinating lessons for modern society," said Charles with the air of someone prepared to speak on the topic for several hours, relaxing into a chair by the fireplace. "And, I should add, a not insignificant amount of homosexuality."

"Sunset should be at eight tonight," Erik continued, pacing the room and ignoring the digression. "I'll scope out the back of Shaw's house when it gets dark, see what kind of security systems we're dealing with."

"I haven't unpacked my surveillance equipment just yet, but once I do, we should test out the earpieces before you head in."

"Did they give you any video capabilities?"

"There's a camera, but not for moving images, I'm afraid."

"That will have to suffice."

"Can I interest you in a drink?" asked Charles, applying himself to the bar cart. A tentative sniff of the contents of a cut glass decanter revealed the presence of a passable bourbon. He poured himself a stiff measure and looked around at Erik, who was staring at him in disbelief.

"My handler at the CIA assures me that you are an excellent and very professional operative with a proven track record in the field," said Erik coldly, crossing his arms. "She failed to mention anything about a propensity for _drinking on the job_."

"Well, that was terribly remiss of her," smirked Charles, dropping an ice cube into his tumbler. "Moira knows me better than that."

"Charles."

"I'm just having one, love. Why don't you go and alphabetise your grappling hooks, or whatever."

"I expect to discuss the earpiece tests with you in one hour," snapped Erik, sweeping out of the room and leaving an air of annoyance in his wake.

Charles took a moment to appreciate his drink, swirling it around in his glass and letting the stress of the day wash away from him, before reaching for the slim, unobtrusive suitcase that he'd left on the coffee table, opening it up on his lap and perusing the contents. As well as two small earpieces, there were some transmitters, a miniature camera disguised as a pen, a slightly larger camera that would fit into a jacket's breast pocket, several tiny recording devices and a stern note from Moira, reminding him that this equipment was _extremely expensive_.

Their new home for the time being was two houses away from the dwelling of US Senator Sebastian Shaw, a notable politician of good repute, and his lovely wife Emma. Shaw's success had been rapid and impressive, propelling him to the upper echelons of government within a few scant years of his arriving on the political scene. His life before that appeared, to the casual observer, to have been entirely unremarkable. He had been a small businessman in a small town in upstate New York, running a chain of grocery stores, before deciding to try his luck in the big city with his beautiful wife in their picture-perfect home in the suburbs. 

A closer examination of his papers, however, revealed a less complete picture. His social security number didn't match his description, there could be found no mention of his parents in any official records, and his work history before 1947 was suspiciously blank. Charles' contacts at the CIA believe that the clues, if there were any, to his mysterious past might be found in his home. Lehnsherr had volunteered for the task, and given his track record in hunting down suspected former Nazi officers, Charles was happy to have him, despite his prickly manners.

Draining the rest of his drink, he closed the latch on his briefcase with a clean click and ventured up the stairs towards his bedroom to hang up his suit jacket.

"Charles," hissed Erik through his own bedroom door. "Come quickly, and be quiet."

He slipped silently through the open door and saw Erik crouched at the window, beckoning him urgently. Wordlessly, he handed Charles a pair of binoculars and gestured for him to look through the crack in the curtains.

Outside, a sleek, black car was gliding smoothly amid the manicured lawns and immaculate homes along the road.

"That must be him," whispered Erik in his ear. "None of the other households strike me as likely to have cars that expensive."

Sure enough, the car turned into the driveway of Shaw's home, coming to a stop in front of the yellow front door. The man himself emerged from inside his car, wearing a sharp suit and a hat, which he removed on exiting the vehicle. Mrs. Shaw walked sedately through the open door and greeted her husband with a small, tight kiss on his cheek, and the two walked back inside arm-in-arm.

"What do you think of her?" asked Erik, staring intently through his binoculars.

"She puts on an excellent front, and for all I know she may be precisely who she appears to be, but she is exceptionally intelligent."

"From all the intel I've been privy to, she's largely considered to be a trophy wife."

"Yes, and I suspect she makes great use of being underestimated."

"Interesting. I wonder if we will be able to use that to our advantage."

"Perhaps. If you're ready for our equipment tests, I can be ready in ten minutes or so."

"Excellent," said Erik, replacing his binoculars in their case. "I'll meet you in the living room."

Charles was relieved to divest himself of his starched shirt, tie, waistcoat and jacket, hanging them up in his bedroom and meandering back downstairs in only his trousers, undershirt, and suspenders. On walking into the living room, he discovered that Erik had also changed, in his case into a skin-tight polo necked jumper and a pair of form-fitting trousers that accentuated his tiny waist. Charles cleared his throat, tugging on the neck of his t-shirt that suddenly felt two sizes too small.

"I think it would be best if we- oh," said Erik softly on seeing him. "You've changed your clothes."

"As have you, my friend," said Charles, recovering his composure as he placed his briefcase on the table and pulled out the equipment.

"Yes, well," said Erik, averting his gaze, "A little better for sneaking around in the undergrowth than my best suit. It would be best to test the earpieces in separate rooms, would it not?"

"Absolutely essential, yes. I assure you, you do not want to experience the sound of feedback piped directly into your ear drum. Here, let me insert this for you, then I will retire to the dining room and turn mine on." He stood on his tiptoes to reach Erik's ear, steadying himself with one hand on his solid chest as he gently slipped the inconspicuous piece of plastic over the top of his ear, the speaker and microphone resting inside his ear. 

"I'm afraid this might disrupt the lines of your outfit," said Charles ruefully, holding up the bulky transmitter pack, which he then slipped into Erik's back pocket, reaching his hand up under the back of his tight shirt to run the cable up to plug into the ear piece, eliciting a little shiver.

"I'm sure my reputation as a fashion icon will recover," said Erik drily, looking a little flushed.

Charles reached his hand into Erik's back pocket and flicked a switch on the transmitter, trying very hard not to cop a feel and only slightly succeeding. "Right," he said briskly, turning away to pick up his own equipment. "Once I am at a suitable distance, I will turn on my own and we'll see if this works."

"Do you need me to-" said Erik, awkwardly gesturing towards Charles' chest.

"No, I can attach it myself - I don't need to scale walls while wearing it - but thank you," said Charles over his shoulder, internally kicking himself for losing the opportunity to be felt up by his handsome new coworker while simultaneously congratulating himself on his maturity. He strode all the way to the opposite end of the dining room and slipped his own earpiece into place, flicking a switch on his transmitter and waiting with one eye half-closed in anticipation of feedback. When the feedback did not materialise, he spoke aloud, trusting the microphone to pick it up. "Testing, testing."

"Roger that, hearing you loud and clear," responded Erik's voice, crackly through the earpiece. "Is this the maximum distance we can reach?"

"No, it should be good up to two hundred yards. Long enough for you to get to Shaw's back yard at least," said Charles, switching off the transmitter as he walked back into the room. "How does it feel?" He fiddled around with Erik's ear, re-settling the plastic.

"It's fine," said Erik lightly. "I wouldn't take a nap with it in, but it's comfortable enough for our plans."

"And with movement? We don't want it dropping out of your pocket while you're climbing around." Charles immediately regretted his words when Erik dropped into a lunge, then touched his toes, kicked up into a handstand and generally leaped about the room being ridiculously, intoxicatingly gymnastic.

"Steady as a rock," declared Erik, patting the transmitter in his back pocket and panting a little as he finished his experiment.

Charles cleared his throat and attempted to collect his wits before responding. "Nightfall isn't for another while, so how about a game of chess and some dinner?"

Dinner, it transpired, was an aluminium tray of frozen food that was heated directly in the oven and left a lot to be desired in terms of flavour, texture, and self-respect.

"But you make such wonderful cookies," lamented Erik, picking at what he was fairly sure was a lump of re-formed turkey meat. "I thought it was safe to entrust you with dinner."

"The picture on the box made it look so delicious," said Charles, trying, and failing, not to pout. 

By the time they had fitted Erik with his transmitter and Charles had gotten into position at the back window with the blueprints, ready to guide him around the back of the Shaws' property under the cover of darkness, the lingering indignity of their dinner had given way to a feeling of nervous excitement.

"If I were Shaw, I would place surveillance cameras here and here," said Charles, pointing to spots on the blueprints. "The fence around the back of the property is solid enough that if you approach from this side, you won't be seen."

"Then I can look in through the knot holes," agreed Erik, stretching out his shoulder and revealing an inch of toned stomach. Charles, to his credit, managed not to voice the squeaking noise that rose in his throat at the sight. "I'll see if I can take any photographs."

With that, he gave a polite nod and slipped through the back window. Once Charles was sure he was far enough away, he turned on his own earpiece.

"Testing, do you read me?" he said quietly, peering into the darkness through the window.

"Loud and clear," said Erik's voice in his ear, a strangely intimate sound that sent a shiver down his spine.

"Excellent. Do you have a view to the house?"

"Not yet," murmured Erik, his breathing audible over the speaker. "The back fence is remarkably well-constructed. Ah! A knot in the wood, excellent."

"What can you see?"

"Judging by the lights, there are cameras in the locations you anticipated, and an extra one between the second and third windows on the ground floor."

"Can you get a photograph?"

"No, the angle isn't right, but I can mark it out on the blueprints when I get back home." A scuffling sound was audible, followed by a muffled "fuck".

"Erik?"

"The porch light's gone on," he whispered urgently. "I think one of them is about to-"

"Yes?"

"Shaw's come out for a cigarette." 

"Can you get back without drawing attention to yourself?"

"Be quiet," hissed Erik. Several long, anxious minutes passed with Charles chewing on his lip as he waited. Eventually, he heard Erik give a sigh of relief. "He's gone. I'm on my way back."

Relaxing, Charles allowed himself a luxuriant stretch, working out the kinks from his uncomfortable crouch on the windowsill. Before long, Erik was folding his long legs through the open window and clambering into the room.

"Pass me the blueprints," he barked without preamble, clicking his fingers. "I need to mark down the camera location before I forget."

Wordlessly, Charles passed over the document, scowling a little at being addressed so impolitely. Erik marked down the location with a neat "X" and shoved the pencil back into Charles' hands. By the time Charles had detached all of the the electronic equipment from Erik's clothing and carefully stowed it away in the briefcase, Erik had already disappeared up to his bedroom without a word. 

Charles sighed and paced over to the bar cart to pour himself another scotch. It was going to be a long assignment.


	2. Chapter 2

"Our train leaves in half an hour, and it's a ten minute journey to the station," said Erik testily, standing fully dressed next to the front door.

"Hmm?" said Charles sleepily, wearing his dressing gown in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea and looking infuriatingly adorable. 

" _Get dressed_ ," snapped Erik, crossing his arms over his chest. "And for God's sake, eat your toast over a plate! You're getting crumbs everywhere."

Rousing himself too slowly, Charles drained the rest of his tea and padded upstairs in his slippers, a piece of toast clenched between his teeth. Absent anything more constructive to do, Erik started pacing up and down the hallway, cursing Moira McTaggart and her hiring decisions. He was amazed when, three minutes before they needed to leave the house, Charles came sauntering downstairs looking immaculate in a sharp, double-breasted suit. 

"Come on, then," said Charles with a smirk. "Let's not dilly-dally."

"Dilly-dally," muttered Erik, stalking out to the car. 

His mood did not improve when they made it to the train station and got into a disagreement with the guards on the train regarding the validity of their tickets, which ended with them having to buy a new pair of tickets and with Erik fuming.

"Petty little fascists," he hissed as soon as they were out of earshot.

"That seems a tad strong," said Charles absently, thumbing through the newspaper.

"Believe me, I know fascists," grumbled Erik under his breath.

"They're just following..." Charles tailed off when he saw the expression on Erik's face. "No, no, you know what, I'm not going to finish that sentence."

"Very wise."

Their employers had taken the sensible decision to rent out some office space for them in the city, decorated as you might expect a small advertising agency to look, with mock-ups of imaginary campaigns littering the walls and a bored-looking secretary manning the front desk.

"Good morning, gentlemen," she drawled as they approached. Charles was too busy looking around at the artwork on the walls to pay attention, but when they got closer to the desk and he laid eyes on her, he let out an honest-to-God squeal and ran over to her.

"Raven!" he beamed. "I can't believe they sent you."

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, Charles?" she laughed, throwing her arms around his neck for a hug. Erik stood by uncomfortably, unsure whether he was meeting the wife of his attractive new coworker or not.

"Erik, this is my baby sister, Raven." At this, Erik tried very hard not to visibly relax. "Raven, this is Erik Lehnsherr, my partner for this project."

"I have your partner down as Max Eisenhart," she said, frowning down at her papers. "And for the record, I'm not a baby," she added, scowling at her brother.

"Eisenhart is a pseudonym," explained Erik, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Mr. Shaw and I have, ah, crossed paths previously."

"Aren't you worried he'll recognise you?"

"I was just a child," he said tightly, shoving down all of the emotions and memories that were threatening to break through the surface of his thoughts. 

"But what- ouch!" said Raven as Charles pinched her on the arm. Erik shot him a grateful look. One of the Xavier siblings, it seemed, had a modicum of tact.

"Raven, why don't you give us a tour of our new offices?" said Charles firmly, steering her away from her desk.

"Aside from the reception area there's just the board room and your shared office," said Raven, waving expansively around the room as she walked. Opening the door to the board room, they found a bland but tastefully decorated space with a large table surrounded by chairs, a couple of easels and even - 

"Is that a slide projector?" asked Charles earnestly, already fiddling with the machine. "I haven't played with one of these since university."

Raven slapped his hands away. "It's the CIA's, dumbass. Don't break it."

"Rotten spoilsport," grumbled Charles.

Their shared office was equally bland, with two desks set up opposite each other, a few spare chairs for receiving visitors - and, Erik was annoyed to notice, a fully-stocked bar cart. The real appeal of the location was the direction that the windows faced - directly at the campaign offices for Mr. Shaw's re-election campaign - or, as it was rumoured, his run for President. The telescope was already set up in an unobtrusive place - film on the windows making it difficult for outside observers to see into their office, while still allowing them to see out.

"All ready for a fun day of spying," chirped Raven. "Anyone want a drink?"

"I really don't think that's-" began Erik.

"Tea," cut in Charles. "Thanks, love."

"A coffee, please," amended Erik, relieved. "Black, no sugar."

They settled in for a long day of surveillance, switching shifts between the telescope and the long-range microphone. 

After about five hours, a hearty lunch, and fifteen cups of tea, Charles pulled the earpiece off and rubbed his eyes.

"I think they're going to come to a decision soon," he said.

"Mm?" replied Erik vaguely, not tearing his eye away from the lens.

"Yes, it's been a tough-fought thing, but the larger faction is on the attack and it looks like victory is in sight."

There was a silence. "So they're going to print the campaign leaflets on the teal paper, then."

"It seems so."

"Riveting."

"Hmm." Charles lapsed into silence for a few seconds, drumming his fingers on the window sill. "I very much doubt that they're going to say any interesting Nazi things, but we do now have a list of his staff's names."

"I still think we should head in there after it's empty. At the very least, a list of his major donors would be instructive."

"Agreed."

It was a warm day, and over the course of the afternoon they both stripped out of jackets and waistcoats, down to just shirtsleeves - which was difficult enough to deal with - but Charles' decision to unbutton his shirt and reveal the sweat beading on his collarbones was simply unnecessary and frankly, in Erik's opinion, cruel. 

Charles slumped back against his desk and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. "Raven," he called, "I don't suppose you thought to bring-"

"No, Charles," she drawled, slinking into the room with a travel chess set in her hands. "I didn't think to bring literally the only thing you ever ask for on a mission."

"Have I told you recently that you're an excellent sister?"

"I'm not playing with you, though," she said over her shoulder as she walked back out of the room, "so you'd better get tall, dark, and grumpy to go a few rounds."

"Assuming you're talking about me," said Erik drily, "I would be delighted."

"Marvellous," beamed Charles. 

They settled down opposite each other over the board to play, and it seemed only a moment before the sun had dipped below the horizon and the office across the street was emptying of people, the lights switching off room by room. 

"Do you want to stop making goo-goo eyes at each other and actually go do some work?" prompted Raven, nudging Charles on the shoulder.

"Just a second," he said distractedly, thumbing his knight, then moving the piece into position. "Check."

"Your concentration is slipping, my friend," smirked Erik, sliding his queen across the board to take Charles' knight, pinning his king into a corner. "Checkmate."

"Balls!"

"Guys," said Raven testily, scowling at them.

"Right," said Charles, jumping to his feet and dusting his hands off on his shirt. "We'd best get to it."

Shaw's building was a gleaming glass monstrosity of imposing, leering proportions. They walked in through the front entrance, neatly dressed back into their best jackets. Then, startled, Erik pulled Charles by the lapels back into the alcove.

"There's a receptionist," he hissed.

"I'm aware of that," said Charles, pushing his hands away and dusting off the front of his jacket. 

He strode back into the lobby and smiled warmly at the assistant behind the desk. "Hello, love," he beamed, flashing an ID card. "We're just headed into the office to finish up a few bits and pieces. You wouldn't mind terribly if we asked you to call the elevator for us?"

Slightly taken aback by his polite British manners, brisk attitude, and dazzling smile, she took in the ID card absentmindedly and then nodded, pressing a button to call the shining brass-and-chrome elevator down to their level.

"Met an accountant from the lower floors when I went out to get our lunch earlier," murmured Charles in Erik's ear once they were in the elevator, the operator politely ignoring them. "Asked if I could bum a fag and swiped this from his back pocket."

"I'm sorry, you asked if you could _what_?" hissed Erik.

"It's a perfectly reasonable thing to say in England," said Charles blithely, giving a tip to the operator and stepping out at their floor. "I don't know why these Yanks all get so flustered when I ask them for a cigarette."

"I'll explain later," sighed Erik, taking out his lock picking set and applying himself to the office doors, making short work of the simple tumblers. 

Their search of the offices was brisk and methodical, Erik rifling through filing cabinets and desk drawers while Charles crawled under tables to find unobtrusive places to plant listening devices.

"Anything exciting?" he asked, emerging for air from underneath the central conference table. 

Erik looked up from where he was perusing a stack of papers. "What looks like copies of several new passports and some plane tickets for flights from Central America later this year."

"Who would he be bringing into the country?"

"His Nazi pals, I assume. All the dates are after the election, it looks like he wants to wait to get into power and then fly his old chums in under the radar." He flipped open a few of the passports and then stopped dead, the colour draining from his face. "I know this one," he said tightly, tapping on the photograph, his jaw working furiously. 

Charles crowded over his shoulder to look at this photograph. "From the camps?" he asked gently.

"Let's just say," he said stiffly, the scent of acrid smoke coming, unbidden, to his mind, "I'd like to do everything possible to prevent this man from being able to enter the country undetected."

"Point taken." Charles touched his arm, a grounding squeeze. "We should clear out of here before the cleaners arrive, do you have everything you need?"

"Yes," he said, stowing his camera back inside Charles' briefcase. "Let's go."

They managed to make it all the way home without Erik even slightly murdering a ticket collector, which Charles proclaimed to be the greatest success of the day.

"I'm going to cook some actual food for our dinner," said Erik, hanging up his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, not failing to notice the way Charles' eyes greedily devoured every inch of his forearms that were revealed. "You'll develop the photographs?"

"Absolutely, my friend," grinned Charles. "I wish you every success."

"It won't be difficult to beat yesterday's fiasco."

"I wouldn't jinx it, if I were you. The chemicals are in your bedroom?"

"Yes, feel free to do the work in there if it suits."

"I hope you've hidden all your secrets," laughed Charles, heading off up the stairs.

Erik watched him walk away with wide eyes before shaking himself and getting on with preparing dinner. The vegetables were cooked and the steaks were just resting by the time Charles reappeared, looking incredibly cuddly in a woollen cardigan and humming to himself.

"Shall I set the table?" he asked.

"Have you washed your hands?" asked Erik, eyeing the offending appendages with suspicion.

"Ah, good idea," he said affably, washing his hands under the kitchen tap, with the fancy little bar of soap. "I'd get in terrible trouble if I poisoned us both."

Charles was effusive in his praise for the meal and Erik started preening just a little before he caught himself. Once they had eaten their fill - and once Erik had stood threateningly over Charles, glaring at him to ensure he did the washing-up to a reasonable standard - they repaired upstairs to look at the developed photographs, which were hanging on pegs on lines strung up inside Erik's darkened bedroom.

"This was the individual you recognised, yes?" said Charles, gingerly handling the still-damp print. Erik nodded his assent. "Do any of these others seem familiar, or is it only the one?"

Erik took his time in answering the question, closely inspecting each picture in turn. "Just that one," he said tightly.

"I'll inform Moira," said Charles, noting down the details from the passport. "If we aren't successful in preventing his election, at least we can be prepared for the aftermath." He unclipped the remaining photographs and slipped them into a manilla envelope. "You did good work today, Erik. We're a step closer to exposing Shaw."

"A whole step?" he said with a half-smile.

"Maybe two," chuckled Charles. He looked at the dresser, where Erik had propped up a couple of photo frames. "Are those your parents?"

"Yes," said Erik softly, picking up a photograph of a man and a woman holding tight to a little boy's shoulders as he beamed at the camera. "My mother was so excited about getting our photo taken, she put so much starch in my shirt that I could barely move."

"You and she were very close."

"Yes," he replied simply.

"I can't imagine... To lose her at such a young age. I am so sorry, my friend."

"I can still remember, after Shaw killed her, and his men took her away to be... disposed of, the smell of the smoke. I couldn't wash it out of my skin, my hair, my eyelashes. I don't think I'll ever forget it."

Charles' hand only squeezed his knee for the briefest of seconds, but it conferred a wealth of reassurance and comfort in one tiny gesture.

"We will stop him, Erik," he said, great sincerity in his earnest blue eyes. "No matter how long it takes. I promise you that."

Erik took a moment to study his face, and was surprised by his own surety in his answer.

"I believe you."


	3. Chapter 3

"Have I not been through enough?" cried Erik, turning his eyes skywards and appealing to the heavens.

"For Christ's sake, it's just a coffee cup," said Charles mildly, looking over his shoulder.

"Coffee? This _substance_ ," he said with distaste, "may once have been coffee, but it has taken on a life of its own and is dangerously close to _developing sentience_."

"All you have to do is scrape it out into the bin. Stop being such a prima donna."

"Well, if it's so simple..." said Erik menacingly, handing over the mug and folding his arms expectantly.

"It's your turn to do the washing up," pouted Charles, doing his best to look adorable. "You made a rota."

"I did not agree to wash up whatever _petri dishes_ you've been cultivating in your bedroom," snarled Erik.

"Yet again, I failed to read the small print," sighed Charles with a put-upon look, taking the mug and dumping the contents into the garbage. Erik watched him with folded arms, somehow looking incredibly intimidating despite wearing vivid turquoise rubber gloves and a floral apron. Charles' cheeks prickled self-consciously as he washed the mug under Erik's careful scrutiny, then held it up for inspection. "See, good as new," he said weakly, willing his blush to go down.

"Fine," said Erik, stripping off his gloves and hanging the apron on the back of the door. "Shall we get back to work?"

"Capital idea," agreed Charles, leading the way back into the dining room. After a few weeks without much communication from their handlers, the milkman had delivered two pints of full-cream dairy to their doorstep that morning, along with a little something extra printed on the foil bottle tops.

"Why do they insist on sending things with these ridiculous ciphers?" grumbled Erik, peering at the tiny text and tapping the letters into what looked like an ordinary typewriter. The machine could be converted, by way of a hidden lever at the side, into a decryption device. Once that day's key phrase had been entered, the encoded text could simply be typed in and it would be converted to plain text.

Raven was in charge of setting the key phrases and today's, for some unfathomable reason, was "grouchy shark".

Once the algorithm had been followed, the message revealed was very simple.

TONIGHT.

* * *

"I feel ridiculous," said Charles, scowling in the mirror.

"You cannot possibly wear one of your stuffy tweed suits for this," insisted Erik, smoothing down the back of Charles' black polo neck and thinking, privately, that he looked rather nice.

"I suppose," he sighed, turning around and giving Erik an appreciative once-over. "At least we match."

"The first rule of espionage is to co-ordinate your outfits," he agreed, handing him a coil of rope and a small camera.

"Right," said Charles, looping the rope around his shoulder and pulling out the blueprints once more, tapping sections of them with his gloved finger. "Let's go over the plan one last time before we head out. We climb over this part of the fence where there's a camera black spot. We take this path through the shrubbery, then gain access through the attic window. The safe is likely to be in the study or the master bedroom. We're leaving our listening devices in each room and under the desk in the study, then we will exit through the same route by which we entered."

"Correct," said Erik, peering over his shoulder and enjoying the way his breath made the hairs on the back of Charles' neck stand up. "There are unlikely to be interior cameras but it's possible there will be listening devices, so you will have to tone down your infernal yammering."

"Just as you will have to refrain from your trademark caustic remarks, my friend," he replied mildly.

With a nod, they both slipped out of the back door and climbed over their own back fence, pulling black woollen hats on their heads as they went. The dense foliage behind the houses rustled as they walked, but the layer of leaves on the ground covered their footsteps so that a passer-by would easily mistake the sound for an enthusiastic and clumsy raccoon.

Shaw's back fence was taller than their own, so Erik knelt to give his shorter companion a boost over the wooden barrier. Charles landed on the opposite side of the fence with surprisingly little commotion, and Erik followed afterwards, landing silent and cat-like on his feet.

Dropping into a crouch, they made their way across the manicured lawn in the pre-determined path they had mapped out on the blueprints, ducking behind some perfect topiary and sneaking around to the side of the house. Erik pulled a grappling hook from somewhere in his skin-tight outfit and attached Charles' coil of rope to it. With a swift, practised throw, he sent it flying up to the attic window, where it landed with a 'thunk' and caught firmly against the inner window-sill. After giving it a couple of tugs to make sure it was secure, he handed the rope to Charles, who, with some trepidation, braced his feet against the wall and began to climb. Erik waited until he reached the window and pulled himself in before scampering up the rope himself. He found Charles looking around the attic room with an air of confusion.

"I have never seen an attic this neat," he whispered, mystified. "What the hell is wrong with these people?"

"They're Nazis, Charles, try to keep some perspective. Now kindly, be quiet."

Charles shrugged and mimed zipping his lips before following Erik down through the hatch and onto the attic ladder. The upstairs landing was similarly immaculate, only a sideboard with a single vase breaking up the expanse of clean white carpet. After trying several doors, they slipped into the master bedroom at the end of the hallway. In silent agreement, they split up to make a thorough search of the room, placing bugs in unobtrusive places as they went. The search didn't throw up anything particularly interesting, although Erik did spare a few moments to puzzle over some of the unmentionables from Mrs. Shaw's underwear drawer, many of which defied geometrical understanding.

Their next target was the study, which could be reached through a door off of the ornate dining room. Sticking a bug underneath the dining table for good measure, Charles followed Erik into the office, which was hung with Shaw's campaign posters and looked, for all intents and purposes, like any other politician's base of operations. This room held more promise for secrets, as it contained a couple of filing cabinets, a locked closet, and a large mahogany desk with deep drawers. Erik set to work flicking through the filing cabinets while Charles, well-used to secret drawers after growing up in an ancient mansion, investigated the desk. He let out an involuntary little pleased noise when his questing hands found a latch underneath the central drawer, then a disappointed sigh when the secret drawer that popped out held only some illegal imported cigars. Erik took a photograph of them anyway, in the slim chance that smuggling charges might be the thing to finally bring Shaw down, then Charles slid the drawer back into place with a click.

Erik turned his attention to the lock on the cupboard door, which was a tricky eight-pin tumbler. He had just managed to turn the tension wrench and unfasten the door when he was stopped short by the sound of the front door opening. Quick as a flash, he opened the closet and stepped inside, pulling Charles with him and closing the door after them as quietly as possible. 

The only contents of the closet were some tuxedos in dry cleaner bags which rustled whenever they moved. There was just enough room for the two of them to fit inside, their bodies pressed close together in the cramped space. They held their breath, waiting for the new interloper to reveal themselves.

Expecting to hear Shaw's strident tones or his wife's affected giggles, they were both relieved to hear the sound of a vacuum cleaner starting up. Mr. Shaw didn't seem like the type to expect his wife do her own vacuuming, and the cleaning lady would, presumably, not be staying overnight, and was unlikely to discover their hiding place. As soon as the coast was clear, they would be able to exit the house the way they came in. They just had to stay still and silent until then.

Charles was so close that Erik could smell the toothpaste on his breath and the earthy scent of his cologne, the heat from his muscular chest in the tight black shirt radiating into him where they were pressed together. It was pitch black inside the closet, but he could sense Charles' gaze, and feel each breath as it tickled against his skin. Charles shifted a little, pressing them chest-to-chest, and brought his hand up to rest on Erik's hip.

Erik had to tamp down the sudden urge to do something that would be deeply unprofessional and mildly illegal, but probably extremely enjoyable.

Charles, however, seemed to have no such compunction. He carried on moving, bringing his hands up to rest on the back of the closet, either side of Erik's head. His thigh slotted between Erik's legs and when he applied a little pressure, Erik let out an involuntary, almost inaudible, sigh of pleasure. Slowly, Charles rose up onto his tiptoes and pressed even closer, tangling one hand in Erik's hair as their faces inched closer together. His eyes adjusting to the darkness, Erik could just about make out the shape of Charles' unruly curls escaping from under his ski cap.

Erik was just able to feel Charles' nose brushing against his, was just opening his lips in preparation for a kiss, when Charles made a questioning sound. Pushing Erik sideways, firmly but gently, he splayed his hands out over the back wall of the closet, feeling for something. He let out a breath when he found it, and grabbed Erik's hand and pressed it against the wall. There was a dial set into the wood, like the lock on a safe, and some further fumbling around in the darkness revealed a handle near the other edge. 

They grinned at each other, and Erik was just reaching out to tuck Charles' hair back underneath his hat when the front door slammed once more, indicating that the cleaning lady had left for the night and that it was time for them to make a speedy retreat. Cautiously, Erik let the closet door fall open an inch, scanning the room before opening it all the way and letting Charles tumble out, surreptitiously adjusting himself as he did so.

Erik jerked his head towards the door, wordlessly indicating that it would be best to make a swift exit. They made one final sweep of the room, setting a bug underneath the desk and locking the closet door, before slipping away on silent feet up to the attic.

Once they had made the complicated journey down the rope, over the garden fence and back to their house, covering their steps all the way, they both collapsed into the over-stuffed armchairs in their parlour, exhausted by their efforts but exhilarated by what they had found.

"I'll need a couple of extra tools if I'm going to crack that lock," said Erik after a while, rousing himself from his stupor.

"We'll let Raven know tomorrow. I'm just hoping we'll get another opportunity to break in sometime soon," said Charles through a yawn, stretching out his stiff muscles.

"Ideally I'd like to get a look at that thing in daylight, but God only knows if that would be possible."

"Hmm," said Charles idly, drumming his fingers on his arm rest.

"What?" asked Erik, leaning forwards. "You look like you're having an idea." 

Charles' red lips broke into a broad grin.

"I think it's time we talked to Mrs. Shaw."


	4. Chapter 4

"I think I've figured it out," Charles called across the garden.

Erik looked over from where he was weeding the raised flowerbed and wiped the sweat from his brow, squinting in the midday sun. "You have?"

"Yes, it's quite simple actually," he replied proudly, taking a firm grip on the lawnmower's pull cord. "I just need to-" He yanked on the chain and was cut off when the engine made a great spluttering sound, belched out a cloud of foul-smelling smoke, and fell silent.

"Simple," agreed Erik archly, standing up and putting his hands on his hips. 

"Having some trouble there, sugar?" said a voice from over the fence. Mrs. Shaw was observing them with amusement from her immaculate front garden, watching them over the top of her sunglasses as she sunbathed. Their adventures in the garden over the past few days had caught her interest and she'd taken to throwing a few playfully caustic remarks in their direction. They had struck up a rapport, and managed to ask a few casual questions about her husband in the process, to her obvious amusement.

"Why don't you boys come over and cool off, then we'll see what we can do about that mower."

Erik and Charles looked at each other and grinned broadly before following her into her front room.

"Terribly kind of you," said Charles politely, perching on one of the chintzy arm chairs and accepting a glass of ice-cold home-made lemonade.

"Yes, we're very luck you've taken pity on us," agreed Erik. "Difficult enough for a couple of bachelors to keep house without the machines rising up against us."

"Sounds like you gentlemen need a woman's touch," she said lightly, her piercing gaze assessing them coolly.

"I suppose we'll have to make do, for now. Your husband's very lucky to have a woman like you to look after him," said Charles, looking around him at the tastefully-decorated and spotlessly clean room. 

"Oh, honey, you have no idea," she smirked.

"How long have the two of you been married?"

"Seems like forever," she sighed, "especially when he's working all the time."

Charles and Erik shared another smile.

"Tell me," said Erik, leaning forwards on his elbows. "Does your husband's business ever take him out of town?"

* * *

"This clingy little black number is starting to grow on me," announced Charles, inspecting his reflection. 

"It suits you," said Erik, smoothing down the sides of the shirt as Charles admired himself in the mirror. His hands lingered at Charles' hips, thumbing over the taut fabric. 

Charles turned around in his embrace and stepped closer, looking up at Erik through his eyelashes. He slid his hands up over Erik's stomach to rest on his chest, and stood up on his tiptoes, pausing when their lips were only a breath apart.

"Once this is all over," he murmured, heart beating rubato against his chest, "maybe you and I should take a trip together."

Erik ran his hands up Charles' back. "Mmm," he rumbled. "You want to drag me to an isolated cabin somewhere?"

"Somewhere we can watch the leaves change. No neighbours around for miles..."

"Nobody to hear me scream, you mean," said Erik, eyes fixed on Charles' red lips.

"If that's what you're into," purred Charles. 

"Yes," breathed Erik. "I'm into that." He leaned down and finally closed the distance between them, sweeping Charles into a kiss. They embraced, hot and open-mouthed, Erik's fingers tangling in Charles' curls to bring him even closer, their chests pressed together.

"We don't need to leave _right now_ , do we?" entreated Charles, as they paused for air, scratching his short nails across Erik's shoulders. "We could have a drink, maybe fool around a little?"

"Yes," said Erik sternly, nonetheless dipping his head to help himself to another kiss. "We need to leave precisely now."

"Fine," said Charles with a pout. "Let's get on with it, then."

They entered the house through their previous route, sneaking over the fence and through the shrubbery before rappelling in through the highest window.

"This attic still gives me the heebie-jeebies," muttered Charles, shuddering.

"Come on, and be quiet," whispered Erik, nonetheless cracking a small smile. 

They tiptoed through the silent house, making a beeline to the study. Erik made short work of the outer lock on the cupboard door, then knelt down, pulling out a stethoscope from his pocket, and began to crack the safe's lock. Charles stood by the door to keep watch, occasionally glancing back to check on Erik's progress (and the sight of him bending over in tight trousers - Charles was only human).

After ten minutes or so of concentration, a quiet click was audible, followed by a soft sigh of relief from Erik. The door swung open silently at a touch to reveal a small room, packed to the brim with what could only be described as-

"Trophies," said Erik softly, an undercurrent of rage in his voice. Cabinets full of heirloom treasures, stacks of priceless paintings, boxes stuffed with gold necklaces and rings stolen from the fingers of the dead. 

"We should start taking photographs," said Charles grimly. "Catalogue the pieces as much as we can in the time available."

"Yes," agreed Erik, swallowing heavily. He took one step into the room and stopped dead, fixated on an open locket on top of a cabinet. Charles caught a glimpse of two black and white photographs on the inside before Erik snapped it shut and grasped it so tightly in his fist that blood began to trickle between his clenched fingers.

"Erik," Charles said gently, laying a calming hand on his shoulder. Erik let out a long, slow breath.

"Let's start with-" he began, then froze as footsteps were audible in the room outside. Before they had a chance to hide themselves, the cupboard door swung open and revealed Mrs. Shaw.

"Gentlemen," she drawled, cocking her head. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Speak for yourself," hissed Charles. "You failed to mention that you would be here this afternoon."

"If I were you, I'd be thanking me for making sure the coast was clear."

Erik crossed his arms. "You're the most helpful Nazi sympathiser I've met in recent times, I'll give you that," he said drily, regarding her with open dislike.

"I'm a pragmatist, honey. I can see the way the tide is turning and I want to be on the right side of it."

"I'm sure the CIA will be very grateful for your co-operation," said Charles. "Now kindly leave us to our work."

"Of course," she said lightly. "Are you sure you don't want some lemonade?"

"Quite sure, thank you," said Charles firmly, steering her out the door. After seeing her out, he pulled a camera from his pocket and strode back over to the closet to begin taking photographs, efficiently working his way through the evidence as Erik handed him each item.

The sound of the front door opening and closing made them freeze in place. Mrs. Shaw came back into the room, a smirk on her face and held a finger to her lips.

"Honey, I'm home!" called Mr. Shaw's voice.

"You said he'd be out all day," hissed Erik.

She shrugged. "Plans change."

"What kind of game are you playing?" whispered Charles furiously.

Shaw's heavy footsteps paused outside the study and the door creaked open. His face creased in consternation when he saw the scene inside.

"What the hell's going on in here?"

Picking up a rifle that was hidden behind the door, Mrs. Shaw pointed her gun in his face.


	5. Chapter 5

"You must be Mr. Shaw!" said Charles brightly, striding forwards and offering his hand.

Mrs. Shaw lowered her gun, giving Charles a cautious look.

"Emma, you didn't tell me we had guests," said Shaw, shaking Charles' hand. 

"They just-" she began.

"We, ah, we heard some commotion over here and thought there might be an... intruder," stammered Charles.

"Turns out it was just a raccoon," said Mrs. Shaw, with a girlish giggle for good measure. "I must have screamed the house down, it's got me feeling all jumpy."

"It's good to know we have such caring neighbours," said Shaw smoothly, gripping Charles' hand a little tighter than was comfortable before releasing it. "Thank you, Mr..."

"Xavier, Charles Xavier," he replied, relieved that their fabrication seemed to be working, "and this is my business partner, Max Eisenhart."

"How do you do," said Erik politely, edging away from the closet door and trying to appear calm.

"It's nice to meet you, Max," said Shaw. He reached out to shake Erik's hand, and then gripped it tighter and pulled him sharply towards him so that they were face to face. "You know," he said, low and dangerous, "you look more like an Erik to me."

Erik's face twisted into a snarl of disgust. "Really?" he said coldly, doing his best to slowly crush the bones in Shaw's hand. Charles made an abortive step forwards.

Shaw laughed delightedly. 

"You thought I wouldn't remember you, little Erik Lehnsherr? Haven't you grown!" He caught sight of the locket dangling from Erik's other hand. "I see you've found my little gallery of mementos. I was just thinking about your mother, as a matter of fact. More specifically, the way you cried when I murdered her in front of your eyes."

Charles Xavier was a lifelong advocate for non-violent conflict resolution and had never, ever, raised his hand to another human being in his life.

In that moment he would gladly have strangled Shaw to death with his bare hands.

"You see, Erik," Shaw continued, "I always remember the things I enjoy."

Erik moved before thinking, slamming his forehead into Shaw's face and breaking his nose. Thrown back against the wall, Shaw laughed through the blood dribbling down his face. "Wonderful! You still have so much fight in you. Shall we finish this hand-to-hand, like men?"

The smile that Erik gave to this was truly horrible. "No," he replied, and slowly tilted his head towards Mrs. Shaw. "I think she should shoot you."

Mrs. Shaw raised her gun, aiming the barrel at her husband's forehead. "Sorry, sugar," she said sweetly. Mr. Shaw's face fell, turning into a grimace of horror.

Then, in a flash, she turned around to aim the gun at Erik instead. "I don't think I'm going to be hitching my wagon to your little caravan after all."

Setting his jaw, Erik raised his hands slowly into the air.

"You're betraying us?" said Charles, a note of sadness in his voice. "But you made us lemonade!"

Erik turned his head to give him an incredulous look.

Mrs. Shaw rolled her eyes. "Pathetic."

"Thank you, my love," said Shaw, picking himself up off the floor. "I can always count on you to have my back."

"Always," she agreed. "What do you want me to do with them?"

"Oh, I think since they went to all this effort to find my little treasure trove, they should get the opportunity to enjoy it." He grinned again. "Lock them in the closet."

Mrs. Shaw herded them backwards, pointing her gun from one to the other, slammed the door shut behind them, and locked it, handing the key back to her husband. 

Charles and Erik hammered on the door to no avail, shaking the hinges with their pounding.

"Now come, my love," said Shaw, "and let's leave this stinking city."

In the garage, they slid into the Cadillac and pulled out of the street. "We'll be at the airstrip in no time," laughed Shaw. "And then, Argentina awaits."

"There's construction on third street," said Mrs. Shaw, inspecting her makeup in a compact mirror. "Take fifth."

"Fifth it is," he replied, switching gear. "You know, I've always hated the climate in this part of the world. Everything looks so much better in the sunshine, don't you think?" They shared a smile, and she patted his hand on the gear shift.

On turning onto the street, his buoyant mood abruptly evaporated. 

The road was blockaded with six black vans, and behind each one was a police officer in full body armour, pointing a gun at his car. He screeched to a stop just before hitting the barricade. Eight automatic weapons were immediately pointed at his head. 

A woman in a smart suit strode up to the car and opened the driver side door.

"Moira McTaggert, CIA," she said, her pistol not wavering from where it was aimed at his forehead. "Mr. Shaw, you are under arrest on suspicion of crimes against humanity. These gentlemen will be taking you away now." Two heavily-armed men grabbed Shaw and dragged him out of the car, pinning his arms behind his back.

She turned to the other passenger, who was reapplying her lipstick.

"Thank you for your co-operation, Mrs. Shaw," said Moira. "You have the thanks of the United States government."

"Please," she said, looking at Moira over the top of her sunglasses. "Call me Ms. Frost."

* * *

Raven strode through into Shaw's back office, the keys to the closet in her hands. From behind the door she could hear heavy breathing and the occasional muffled thump, so she hurried to get it unlocked.

"Oh, for God's sake," she grumbled on throwing the closet door open. Charles, eyes glassy and shirt half off, was straddling Erik's hips in the small space and sucking a hickey into the side of his neck. Erik's belt was unbuckled and he was coated in a light sheen of sweat, face contorted in ecstasy as his hands grasped firmly at Charles' ass. 

"What?" snapped Erik, lifting his head from where it was thrown back in pleasure. "Can't you see we're in the middle of something?"

"Are you coming to watch the show, or what?" she said impatiently. "This is your arrest, you know."

The two men looked at each other began to laugh, then Charles sprang to his feet and offered Erik a hand to help him up to standing. He fastened Erik's belt for him while Erik buttoned Charles' shirt. Raven turned her back, crossing her arms and tapping one foot in irritation. 

Once they agreed that they were decent enough to be out in public, they followed Raven out of the house and around the block just in time to watch Shaw, apoplectic with rage, be handcuffed and thrown into an unmarked van.

"Satisfying, isn't it?" murmured Charles, watching with amusement as Shaw ranted about his rights to an entirely indifferent federal officer.

"Oh, yes," said Erik with relish, hands on his hips. He was beautiful in his victory, strong and whole.

Charles gave him a sly look out of the corner of his eye. "I don't suppose I can interest you in that drink?"

A slow smile spread over Erik's face, sharp and full of teeth. "You know what? I think you can."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 
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> 
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